All About Intention
by Kiaranassimu
Summary: They say that all that matters is whether or not the intentions behind the act is good. But everyone knows that's not really true. Good intentions only ever lead to one place. Guess it's a good thing Sam wants to go there.


**Story Name: **All About Intention

**Warning:** Drinking, substance abuse, brief nudity, cursing, mentions past sex

**Summary: **They say that all that matters is whether or not the intentions behind the act is good. But everyone knows that's not really true. Good intentions make everything look better but they only cover up a deeper truth. Good intentions only ever lead to one place. Guess it's a good thing that Sam wants to go there. Because all that's left is killing Lilith and he'll do anything to achieve that end. Bring on the good intentions.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural, all rights to that go to Kripke and the CW. I'm just someone who wishes dearly that Winchesters existed and angels wore trench coats.

**Author's Notes:** I'm not really sure what brought this little thing on but I hope you all like it anyway. Read and tell me what you think. I want to know if anyone else thinks this makes sense or if I rambled a bit too much. This is in no way related to _A Break in the Pattern_, sorry.

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><p>The man sat on the motel bed, hand clenched around a half-empty bottle of scotch, thinking and trying not to think at the same time. He wasn't really sure how it all happened. Wasn't really sure he wanted to think about it all that much. He liked how things were just a blur of action and alcohol, sex and hunting. If he stopped to think about it he would probably end up breaking down again, and that couldn't happen. Not if he wanted to avenge <em>him.<em> Because that was really all that mattered. Nothing else. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long pull, wincing at the burn of the alcohol on the way down. He sighed more than exhaled before letting the bottle dangle from his fist. Nothing mattered anymore and man did he know it.

But maybe that wasn't entirely true. He had some things that mattered through the haze of pain and booze. The hunt mattered. Killing off as many evil sonsofbitches as he could. That mattered. God did that matter. And all the lives he was saving. He knew that mattered, each and every one. Would his mom be proud of him? Would she look down and see him and say, "That's my son," to all the other people up in Heaven? He wasn't sure if it mattered anymore. He wasn't going to stop even if she wasn't proud of him. He knew his intentions were good, even if no one else cared enough to see that.

The man had a mission and he would be damned if he didn't complete it to his upmost. He wasn't going to sit by and let _his_ killer get away with another murder. Wasn't going to let _his_ memory haunt him, that voice rumbling about in his head asking why he didn't _do_ something. Why was he just sitting around, getting drunk, when there were monsters to gank and women to fuck? Damn but he was acting an awful lot like _him_. Another long drink, another slow burn, another exhaled sigh.

He shook his head, long hair flipping around with the motion. Maybe he should get it cut. He was always told he looked like a girl with long hair, when he wasn't being called Ginormo. God, did he miss being called that. Would anyone ever call him that again? It was funny; he used to hate all the teasing, all the mocking. But now he would give anything just to hear that sarcastic tone say his most hated nickname before telling him not to be such a bitch.

There was a soft movement next to him and the man looks over at the woman in the bed. She was stretched out and naked under the covers, brown hair in a halo around her head. How ironic an image. He wanted to smile but he knew he shouldn't. He narrowed his eyes and glared instead. He wanted to hate her, wanted to hurt her, wanted to rip her apart and leave her helpless and screaming. Begging for him to just end her already. Wanted to hate her for what she did to him, did hate her for what she didn't do for _him. _There were so many things he wanted to do, so many things he shouldn't do but knew that he wouldn't change his mind. She was the only person who could help him reach the end goal and it didn't matter anymore how it happened or what he had to do. It didn't matter how many promises he was breaking. It was all for a good reason.

But he still did what she told him too because he knew it was the only way to get what he wanted. She told him to kill a demon; he did it and tried not to enjoy it so much. She told him to fuck her; he did it with a relish. She told him to drink just a little bit more; he grew ever needier. She had him in her claws and he knew it, but he wouldn't get out even if he could. Everything he was doing, he was doing for _him._ He was doing everything so that he would be strong enough to kill the killer. The one that took everything away

He looked away, took a drink, looked back. Saw her eyes open and watching him watching her. She smiled, a flash of white teeth, there one second gone the next. The man doesn't smile back and she pouts at him. Spoilsport, she calls him, as she got up out of the bed. The covers pool down off the bed and onto the floor of the motel, leaving her bare to the world. Her clothes were thrown around the room and she takes her time retrieving them. Bending over just right to show everything off.

He had to remind himself that she wasn't human, mutters it out-loud, calling her a black-eyed slut. She just laughs, shaking her bare ass in his face before slipping her clothes on like she was stripping them off. He thought paying more attention to the scotch in his hand would be a better idea than watching her shimmy into those jeans. The burn was familiar, in both parts of his body, the need grabbing him and holding him tight. He knew what was coming next and suddenly the alcohol was no longer satisfying the thirst building up in his body. All other needs and wants pushed back when she picked up the knife.

He stood, not having to worry about getting dressed seeing as he had already put clothes on while she was sleeping. She smiled at him again, and ran the knife across her wrist. He felt saliva pool in his mouth even as a large part of his hissed about how wrong it was, taking _his _voice as though it would make him listen. He knelt down in front of her and grabbed her arm, holding it steady, before lowering his mouth to the cut and drinking in the flowing red liquid. It was so strong, so impossible to describe. He sucked it down like it was life itself.

Moments later she was pulling away, he resisted but there was only so much he could do. She was still stronger than him and she willed him to let go. He did, blood dripping from his mouth like a vampire after feeding. He thought it was ironic as he wiped away the excess onto his arm. Ironic how much he was becoming like those he hunted. His mother wouldn't be proud of this side of him. She would pull away in disgust, accusing him of stealing the body of her baby boy and using him to do such horrible things. Surely this couldn't be the child she birthed?

And his father, God, he would probably take one look at him and reach for the Colt. Or whatever weapon was handy that could do the job. No risk of him taking those demon blood vampiric urges out on a more human populace. He would put him down like the monster he was becoming. But he didn't care. Neither of them was around to see him. Neither of them was around to stop him.

The demon got his attention, told him to follow her. The man does, fairly certain he knows what was coming next. Have to stretch those exorcism muscles now that he was all pumped up on the good stuff. He didn't bother putting down the scotch, instead he swallows the rest of the bottle in one go and throws it away as they leave the room. They weren't going to be coming back.

He drove the car, let the demon ride shotgun and told him where he needed to go. Put on some music, anything but _his_ and snapped at her when she tried to change it. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole. He doesn't even register he said the words until after, flinching in the stall between songs and turning off the music. He would rather be in silence anyway. Looks away from those black eyes in that pretty face. Doesn't want a reminder of everything he lost, especially not now. Not in the car.

Stops outside of a house. Two stories, with a two car garage. Not the normal warehouse they stop at. The demon must be possessing a member of the family. He wonders if the rest of that people who live in the house are okay before shrugging it off. If they're dead he can't do anything about it anyway. Let him deal with what he could and let the demon beside him deal with the rest. It was how he worked better, anyway. Only having to focus on one thing.

The demon is already tied up and in a devil's trap when they get inside. She must have already prepared things. Obviously. He stands in front of the demon, stares at the man and knows that what is looking back isn't human. Just like the brunet he is standing next to. He doesn't care. He has a job to do. He raise a hand and focuses. Pushes all his anger, all his will toward the demon. Tries to force it to leave using his psychic ability and not one of the exorcism rituals he has stored in his memory.

Nothing happens and the demon laughs at him. Can't get it up, I see. The girl snarls at him. Slaps the guy across the face, both of them have black eyes now. She yells at him to focus more. That he has to really want it. But he does. This is the only way it can end and he needs to be a whole lot stronger. Needs to practice, get it right, do it faster. He tries again.

He pictures white eyes in the face of a little girl. Sees her smile as _he_ gets ripped apart by hellhounds. Hears the screaming but all he can see is white eyes. Lilith. That bitch, the killer he is going to rip apart himself. Imagines the demon he is taking out is her instead. He can almost hear her scream, begging him to stop in the voice of the child she possesses. Listens as the screams turn masculine and watches as white eyes turn black and the demon tied up starts vomiting black smoke. Soon it's over, the demon banished, the man hanging limply against the bonds on the chair. Dead.

The girl puts a hand on his should, tells them he can't save them all. And guides him out of the room. Leaves him so that she can dispose of the body. But he doesn't care because he is getting better. He knows what he needs to do. Even if everyone else tells him that what he is doing is wrong he knows that it doesn't matter. All that matters is avenging _him_, in any way he can. His intentions are good he knows. That's all that matters.

The man walks over to the window in the room. Stares outside at the stars and wonders if there is a God. Turns his mind in the other direction as he feels her walk up behind him. Wants to hate her, wants to hurt her, but knows that she is the only one that can help him. And he hates himself for caving in. It's for a good reason, she tells him. And he knows that is true but that doesn't make it any better.

As he gets in the car he is glad that she has decided not to ride with him. He knows that it is for a good reason, after all if is for _him._ But he also knows something else, even though he can't remember who first said it. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. He isn't sure if that is true but he knows that he will find out as he starts up the car and starts driving. And really, he's kind of hoping it is true. Because_ he _is in Hell. His brother, Dean.

He turns the music on, puts in an old cassette that he used to make fun of. Smiles as the music comes on loud enough to bust his eardrums. There is only one thing that matters anymore. Killing Lilith. But that is really only a means to an end. What really matters is seeing his brother again. And if he has to do it by fraternizing with a demon then he will. He is going to travel that highway filled with nothing but good intention. He is going to see his brother again.

So Sam turns up the music just a little louder, drives just a little, faster, and hopes that soon he'll see the end of the road. All because he knows who is waiting at the other end. He knows that there is only one way to get there. And it all has to do with intention.

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><p>2179 words<p>

**Another Author's Note: **So, uh, what do you think? I hope it makes sense. It made sense in my head. Looks okay on paper, but, uh, I'm really too tired to know for certain. It's past midnight and my mind was already broken from studying for my math test. College level math sucks, and I thought high school was bad. God I need sleep. Read and review. Ja Ne.


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